We had the Christmas we wanted, very quiet just the two of us plus the two cats. We also didn’t decorate because of the two cats. Tonight we are going to order Chinese food and pick it up, same thing we used to do before the pandemic happened for New Years. We’d do it to get me out of my memories that come to the forefront at this time of year, it has always worked well to have a change of pace.
So much has changed in the last two years, I’ve become more of a hermit than I ever was before if that is possible. I’ve gone deep inside my soul and lived there for a spell. Now it’s time to shake those cobwebs off and be more present, fire up the simmering anger in my belly when I see bad actors in adoption. And yes, there are still plenty of bad actors out there. My goal has always been to shine a light on the bad in adoption, and from what I see looking from the outside in at adoption – it has truly become a marketplace place. Adoption is no longer a child welfare institution whose first obligation is for the well-being of that specific child, instead, it seems to be all about what the adult wants now, the sooner the better and that’s the problem. Adoption Agencies, Consultants, Facilitators, Influencers – whatever you call yourself – adoption is about the welfare of that specific child. If that child must be adopted will they fit that family, that comes first, not the folks who want a baby, any baby, the quickest way possible.
Let’s make 2023 the year of what and who is best for this child, not another year of I want a baby, how much will it cost and how quick can I get it.
I’m closing out this post with a long snippet from a much longer untitled poem that Dad’s Dad wrote. (also know grandpa’s father was born in 1838 and dad had to amputate grandpa’s leg – it will make sense when you read the snippet from the poem
But things have changed since Father died
When peace and prosperity seemed to abide
Seems now I’m adrift on an ebbing tide
My old bones creak when I try to walk
My store teeth chatter when I try to talk
Hearing faint when I try to hear
Without that doorbell stuck in my ear
Ambition failing, eyes growing dim
Seems I’m perched on a dead limb
Wondering if one of those lumberjacks
Will come swinging his two-faced axe
As I sway back and forth in my old rocking chair
My mind seems wobbly and oft does soar
To various things in the days of yore
(I have the handwritten copy of the entire poem that spans two pages, grandpa was a farmer, logger, gold miner.)